I am my self and your self and her self and his off-rhyme of a frayed encyclopedia— the crippling arch of a fingertip and the kink of its self- awareness.
I’d like to keep me trapped in the amber of this moment but I find myself, in chemical waste— and fumigation of my miscommunication— tasting the smoke, ripe and ripping up soil and self .
I am my self if the self you are is you and her self, is her and his self is the afterthought of a decomposed anthology— made mechanically— the wrapping of roots. The dipping of leaves into steamed puddles on cement streets, evaporating, *******— mechanically.
I’d like to be a rock, excellently. The telos of my terrain trembles beneath the benign boredom of being myself, excellently.